


Sam Vimes Takes a Walk

by Pasta_Muffin



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Caught in the Act, F/M, Fluff, Lock the damn door Vetinari, M/M, Masturbation, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 23:02:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7820653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pasta_Muffin/pseuds/Pasta_Muffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vimes is forced to stay at the Palace because of guild in fighting. He goes for a walk, and overhears something he really shouldn't have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam Vimes Takes a Walk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scarletmanuka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletmanuka/gifts).



       Vimes had not been expecting to be stuck in meetings all day, but it was that sort of day. The Merchants Guild had been bickering over their newly appointed head, and were having second thoughts after having elected him. So, of course, Vetinari had been involved. What had been a relatively cordial, if loud round table discussion (metaphorically speaking) had somehow devolved into a fist fight.

       It had just so happened that Vimes, who had had a meeting scheduled with his Lordship before the Merchants Guild had descended on the Palace, had been present. People had been arrested, threats had been made, and the meeting had dragged on long into the night.

       In the end, Vimes had been forced to send for an over night bag, and he’d made use of one of the small, and generally unused spare bedrooms. He’d had more than enough of politics, and had decided to take a nap, if only for a few hours. Young Sam was teething, and had been keeping the whole house up with the sort of screams that are characteristic of both the very young, and people who are being mutilated with small but ingenious implements of torture.

       Vetinari, immensely bored, had also decided to go to bed, and had actually left before Vimes. The merchants, being so caught up in their little intrigues, had hardly noticed his absence.

      Vimes, however, had reached had special plateau of fatigue that is most often achieved by parents and shift workers: He could not manage to get to sleep. Being an active sort of person, he attempted to find something to do. The tiny, dusty bedroom he’d chosen was devoid of any reading material or any other form of entertainment. It was for this reason that Vimes decided to go on a walk.

       He knew it was dangerous to wander the Palace at night, largely because the corridors held the promise of traps. Vimes kept this in mind, so he did not stray from the well-trodden paths. (He went where the servants tended to go: Vetinari was aware that if the servants went missing on a regular basis, the applications for the frequently vacated positions would dry up, no matter how lucrative the job may be.)

       Vimes walked aimlessly, and in doing so, something very unusual happened to him: He got lost. Of course, since he’d been here before, even if it _had_ been years ago, he eventually got his bearings. So, he was still in the part of the Palace where the bedrooms were located, but he was now on the upper floor. That meant he was in the posher part of the place, not near the servants’ quarters, where he’d bedded down. (It was close to the Rats Chamber, and Vimes had been unwilling to venture far, in case one of the merchants decided a little middle of the night strangulation was a good idea.)

       A small sound broke the still, dusty night air. Vimes automatically froze, listening. He’d spent years listening out for those sort of quickly hushed up sounds. When times had been bad, he’d ran from them, just in case he was hearing a murder, and the murderer decided to bump off any witnesses, Night Watch or not. Later, when things had gotten almost immeasurably better, Vimes had begun to seek out such small cries in the dark, with the intention of apprehending any potential murderer.

       There was eventually another sound, a small cry. Vimes instinctively followed it. He stopped outside a plain oak door, and he waited. Perhaps someone was having a bad dream? The corridor remained stubbornly silent for some minutes, and Vimes considered trying to find his way back to his room. Shabby though it may be, there were no weird noises there. Still, there was something irritatingly familiar about this door...

       There was another cry, then. This one was more urgent, almost pained. A little hesitant, Vimes knocked. “Hello?” There was no response. He knocked again, much louder this time.

       The reply, if it could be called that, was another, louder cry. Vimes had heard those sorts of sounds issue from human mouths (and otherwise), usually in the Shades, and most often when someone had a knife sticking out of them. He tried the door. It was unlocked. What he saw when he opened the door was not quite what he’d been expecting.

       As it turned out, this was Lord Vetinari’s bedroom, and the man had, indeed, gone to bed. Despite that, he was not, in fact, asleep. He _was_ on the bed, but he was lying on his side, half naked, and with two fingers up his arse.

        Again, Vimes froze. Vetinari _had_ to have heard at least the second knock, right? And his blanket was next to him, bunched up on the side of the bed. So, why hadn’t Vetinari covered himself up, pretended to be asleep? Vimes didn’t get to follow this mental path much further, because Vetinari turned his gaze on him.

       The room was not dark, and so Vimes could see, as he got closer, that Vetinari’s pupils had almost completely swallowed up the blue of his eyes. He wondered how he’d gotten close enough to notice this, and was not especially pleased to realised that his feet had automatically carried him over to the bed.

       Vetinari had not, in fact, stopped moving, even if his movements had slowed. He writhed on the bed, pushing another finger up inside, while his other hand, hidden from sight by a night shirt, worked his dick. Vimes’ mouth went dry, and acting on an impulse, he reached out and touched the side of Vetinari’s face.

       The man closed his eyes, then, and without quite knowing why he was doing this, Vimes leant in for a kiss. Of course, being over tired, Vimes over balanced and landed on top of Vetinari. Vetinari went still. Then, extricating himself, he got up and he locked the door. Without another word, and after getting a nod of approval from Vimes (even if it was a slightly befuddled one), he helped the Commander undress.

       Vimes pulled Vetinari’s night shirt off, and Vetinari, straddling his legs, pushed him against the pillows. Time sped up, and Vetinari, who’d apparently been fingering himself for some time before Vimes had happened upon him, leant over and plucked a bottle of lubricant off the night stand. He paused to kiss Vimes, deep and passionate, before coating the other man’s dick in a liberal helping of something that smelled like strawberries.

       Vetinari lifted himself up, and asked, “Do you really want this?”

       It was one of the very few times Vimes had ever seen Vetinari uncertain. It was also the only time he’d ever seen the man like this: Flushed, red-lipped and shaking with want. Vimes nodded.

       “Oh, thank god.” Vetinari positioned himself over Vimes’ cock and slowly impaled himself on it. (Vimes appreciated this: He’d heard the odd rumour of men doing this, albeit with women, and sustaining horrific genital injuries when the woman moved the wrong way. It was better to go slightly slower than you wanted to, if it meant not potentially mutilating your partner.)

       Vetinari bit his lip, determined to maintain what little composure he had left, and he began to move. A tad slowly at first, and then far more eager. Vimes thrust up, and they managed to attain a sort of jerky rhythm, with Vetinari clutching at him, and Vimes’ grabbing at his waist. Vetinari stared at him, watching almost silently, and he bounced up and down, enthusiastic but somehow still calculating.

       Vimes came first, and panting, he pushed an unresisting Vetinari onto his back. Positioning himself between the other man’s thighs, he took him into his mouth. Licking and sucking, and massaging what he couldn’t fit into his mouth, he imitated what Sybil occasionally did for him.

       Vetinari, legendary self control or no, didn’t last much longer. Unexpectedly flexible, he arched his back and cried out, coming hard.

       They paused for several minutes, catching their breath. Then Vimes, a little more steady on his feet, went to the adjoining bedroom to rinse out his mouth. (Although Vetinari’s lifestyle was decidedly Spartan, he did have the luxury of a bathroom with running water. Being Patrician had to come with _some_ perks.) He returned with a damp cloth and passed it to Vetinari, who wiped himself off. When he was done, Vetinari unceremoniously dumped the soiled wash cloth on the floor.

       Vimes sat down on the edge of the bed. “So.”

       Vetinari said nothing.

       “You were quiet,” Vimes said, letting his brain catch up to his mouth. “You were making a lot of noise, earlier. Well, by your standards, anyway. And then you locked the door, even though you’d left it open, earlier.” Vimes paused while the implications of all this registered. Vetinari didn’t do _anything_ by accident, and so he’d _wanted_ Vimes to walk in on him, and he’d wanted Vimes to see him masturbating. Vimes didn’t dare think of hoe he’d just betrayed Sybil. 

       Vetinari, expression completely closed off, said, “Would you like to stay here for the remainder of the night, or would you like to be escorted to your room?”

        Angered by the apparent manipulation, Vimes said, cold, “I’ll sleep in my own room,  _Sir_ , but I can find my own way back.” He pulled on his clothes, and did so with his back to Vetinari. If he’d been facing him, Vimes would’ve seen the look of disappointment Vetinari wore.

*

       After locating his room, which took far longer than he’d hoped, Vimes managed to sink into a brief, fitful sleep. He took the servants’ entrance when he was leaving, pride or no pride, because he didn’t want to risk running into someone who might pass comment on how dishevelled he was (See: Even more scruffy than usual).

        It was only when he got home and emptied the contents of the overnight bag onto his and Sybil’s bed that he found the envelope. It contained a bottle of lube, two Sonkies and a letter, which just said,  _I know you’ve both wanted this for some time, and I give you my blessing. (I Told Havelock to expect you tonight.)_

_-S_

       Vimes stared at the letter, reread it three times, then carefully folded it up and placed it back in the unused bag, with the rest of said bag’s contents. “Damn.”

       He went, had a quick bath, and got ready for his daily appointment with Vetinari.

*

       Vetinari was far more formal than he’d been for years, and it was only the sudden change in his behaviour that made Vimes realise how casual Vetinari had been before. (Well, casual by his standards was still fussy compared to how just anyone else might act.) For one thing, Vetinari had been teasing him for  _years_ , and Vimes only realised now because of the teasing’s absence. 

       “Sir?” he said, interrupting Vetinari.

       “Yes, Commander? What is it?” Although an eyebrow was not raised, the look on Vetinari’s face said that eyebrow arching was imminent. 

       “I um… I’m sorry.” He quickly explained about the note, and how he hadn’t read it.

       Vetinari’s expression softened. “I see.”

       “You locked the door because you didn’t want to risk anyone else coming in.” He swallowed and forced the next words out. “You didn’t want to share me.”

       Vetinari’s expression was unreadable. “Commander, I already share you–not that we are, in any way involved, past what happened last night.”

       Vimes, who was standing as he usually was during their meetings, rounded the desk. He took Vetinari’s hand. “We could be, if you want to.”

       There was a pause, and Vetinari laced his fingers between Vimes’. "I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this as consolation porn for Scarletmanuka.  
> Probably only a one shot, but may extend it upon request.


End file.
